


We Finally Got It All Right

by ILikeFloralWayTooMuch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Derek Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is a nice person, Derek and Stiles are Dorks, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Malia likes to harass salespeople, Minor Lydia Martin/Malia Tate, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Nightmares, Post-Nogitsune, Prom, Shopping, Stiles makes pop culture references, but he doesn't like people knowing that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ILikeFloralWayTooMuch/pseuds/ILikeFloralWayTooMuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Stiles slowly figures out that Derek isn't as much of a douchebag as he pretends to be (not that she would ever admit that to him).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry, female!Stiles is my life force. 
> 
> This one's set sometime after 3B ended, mostly because I started writing this forever ago before season 4 even started. Also, Stiles and Lydia don't date in this narrative like they did in "come on, i'll say it slowly (romance)" although you can certainly read it that way if you want to! :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Hanging out with Derek Grumpypants Hale had always been extremely awkward…until suddenly it wasn’t. Up until recently, Stiles had never spent much time with the guy, unless you counted reluctant alliances and sometimes saving each other’s lives as “quality bonding time.” For Christ’s Sake, on a good day, the best response she could get out of him was a less intense version of the trademark Alpha Bitchface, and less frequent eye rolling.

But then the _nogitsune_ happened. Not only did it wreak havoc on the entire town, case the deaths of innocent people, and royally fuck Stiles’ mental and emotional state, but it also had the wacky side-effect of bringing Derek and Stiles closer together.

It started with the nightmares. Ever since the _nogitsune_ had been separated from her, Stiles had developed horrible insomnia. She would toss and turn until she finally succumbed into a restless sleep, one that was filled with images and sounds of the demon with the horrifying fangs and bandaged head limping towards her, hissing “Stiles…”--which always resulted in her jerking awake with a scream. About 98% of the time, her dad would then rush in and hold her until she relaxed enough to fall back asleep.

Then rinse and repeat.

One particular night was different because her father had to work the night shift, so when she woke up screaming this time with tears streaming down her face, she was reminded that she was alone in the house. Sitting up, she quickly wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to will away the panic attack that was threatening to arise. Just as her heartbeat was returning to a normal rhythm, she froze when she saw a large silhouette hovering outside her window.

Her heart automatically began pounding in her chest again, and slowly she reached for the titanium baseball bat underneath her pillow (Stiles had been extremely excited when she was able to make the upgrade) so that whatever was outside wouldn’t notice her movement. 

However, her stomach dropped when she looked out the window again and the creature’s shadow was nowhere to be seen. Stealthily (at least in her mind) she jumped out of bed and tiptoed to the wall beside her window, and pressed her back against it.

When she heard her window slowly being opened, she tightened her grip on the bat and tried not to piss her pants. In the shadows, she could see the outline of one leg climbing over the windowsill, then the other one, and finally the rest of the body--

She raised the baseball bat and with a warrior cry, she pounded it on the intruder’s head.

There was a howl of pain, and then: “Stiles, what the _hell_?”

Stiles could have picked out that perpetually annoyed voice anywhere. She blinked a few times and then rushed over to turn on her bedside lamp.

Derek stood by the open window, hand cradling the goose egg that was likely forming on his head, and giving her a look that said, “I would like to straight up murder you.”

“Jesus Christ, dude! You scared the living shit out of me,” Stiles shrieked, throwing a pillow at his stupidly handsome face. “What are you even doing here?”

Derek stayed at a safe distance by the windowsill, face exuding annoyance and discomfort. “I was outside and I heard you screaming.”

A few seconds passed in silence, and all Stiles could hear was the sound of her clock ticking. “That’s all I get? No further explanation?”

Derek didn’t respond, instead opting to convey his thoughts with raised eyebrows.

Stiles groaned in frustration. “Why were you outside, lurking around like the Big Bad Wolf?”

Derek grunted, and pointedly looked at the floor when he answered. “I was just…checking up on you. To see if you were okay. I was in the neighborhood anyways, so I thought I should stop by.”

“And you couldn’t have at least texted before you came over and went all Craigslist stalker on me? Don’t tell me that werewolves have some weird anti-nocturnal texting cell phone policy or something. I mean, I knew Verizon sucked ass, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Derek rolled his eyes at her antics. “I didn’t want to wake you up. I know as well as you that you haven’t been getting enough sleep.”

Then Stiles felt like shit, because, creepy as his methods were, he still made the effort of coming over to check on her (probably by running the entire way, the jackass) and make sure she wasn’t brutally murdered or anything. Rubbing her eyes, she sighed and explained, “Yeah, man, I’m fine. I’ve just been having some nightmares lately. No big deal though. Scott’s been having them too.”

She pointedly neglected to mention that it was in fact a big deal, if the extreme loss of sleep and frequent panic attacks were any indicators.

Derek’s eyes widened. “What have you been dreaming about?”

Stiles smirked. “Oh, you know. Peter in a speedo. Rabbits. An alternate reality where you actually use your words to express your feelings. Terrifying stuff.”

Derek blinked a few times. “You’re afraid of rabbits?”

“Shut up. That’s neither here nor there.”

That uncomfortable silence was back, and Derek just continued to stare at her with a constipated mix of irritation and pity. Which Stiles hated. The pity, that is. She got used to the irritated looks a long time ago.

“It’s really not that bad, Derek,” Stiles muttered, shrugging as nonchalantly as she could. “Most of the time they’re about the…the _nogitsune_ coming after me. I mean, it’s basically the same dream every night, so I should probably be used to it by now.” She scratched the back of her head nervously and looked everywhere in the room _except_ at Derek while she waited for him to say something. 

When he did talk, he sounded kind of pissed. “The next time you have a nightmare, you _call me_. Okay?”

Stiles plopped back onto the bed and gave him a disbelieving scowl. “Dude, I’m not going to call you at three in the morning every time I have a bad dream. I’d be too terrified to interrupt that werewolf beauty sleep thing that you obviously have going on.”

“Stiles,” Derek pressed, giving her a dark look and stepping closer. “Call me. I don’t care if you wake me up, I’ll answer no matter what.”

“Fine,” she groaned, resigned. “But why are you offering to do this for me, and not the rest of the pack? Because I’d bet a lot of money that they’re having nightmares just as bad as mine, after everything that’s happened.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “The rest of the pack didn’t have to deal with an evil demon that took over their minds and bodies, Stiles. You did.”

She snorted angrily. “Well, the rest of them also never committed atrocities and ruined countless people’s lives like I did…like the _nogitsune_ inside of me did. So I really doubt that I deserve anybody’s kindness or pity right now.”

“Stiles,” he sputtered, “I don’t _pity_ you. I’ve never pitied you, and you know that. And you have to know that out of everything that happened with the _nogitsune_ …none of it was your fault. That thing was too strong for any of us to deal with. The _nogitsune_ could have easily possessed any of us, and the only reason it chose you was because you’re human, and you weren’t able to fight against it like a werewolf would have been able to.”

Stiles was starting to tear up again, and her throat was too choked up to respond to him. She looked down at her sheets and tried to calm herself down.

“Stiles?” Derek inquired, sounding uncharacteristically concerned. He leaned down and tried to make eye contact with her.

“I’m…I’m fine,” she choked out, furiously wiping at her eyes. She made an attempt at changing the course of their conversation a little bit. “You’d better have unlimited calling and texting on your phone, because, knowing me, I’m going to take your offer to heart, and end up calling you frequently. Maybe even daily.”

“That’s fine,” Derek assured her, looking completely sincere.

Stiles’ face heated up, and when she saw that her clock read said 1:46 a.m., and knew for a fact that she would struggle to get back to sleep, she realized how much she _didn’t_ want Derek to leave. So she decided to take a leap of faith and be bold.

“I don’t know, since you’re here…do you want to watch a movie or something?” She hated the fact that Derek most certainly could hear her heart racing like a jackrabbit.

“A movie.” Derek looked disbelieving.

“Or, you know…not,” Stiles stated, reeling just a little bit from the expression from his face. “Yeah, let’s not. That was a stupid idea, never mind--”

“No, I didn’t _mean_ …a movie’s fine." 

Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank the Lord. I thought for sure you were going to give me your trademark constipated look and say, ‘No Stiles, you moron, I refuse to watch any cinematic masterpieces with you,’ and then promptly jump out the window and run away.” 

And yep, there was the constipated look in full force. Sometimes Stiles thought that even the strongest laxatives in the world wouldn’t be able to prevent him from looking so stiff all the time. “I don’t do that, do I? I don’t think I’ve ever called you a moron.”

Stiles shrugged. “You may not always actually say it, but I can tell when you’re thinking it.” She climbed off the bed and started sorting through the pile of DVD’s that were placed underneath her television stand. “So,” she began, all business-like. “I was thinking we could start with _The Avengers_ , and end with the new _Captain America_ movie. Cap and Falcon’s asses are the real stars of that movie…and Black Widow’s too, actually. Overall, just a bunch of _great_ asses.”

Derek grinned at her. “As compelling as your argument is, don’t you think you should pick something that will actually help you sleep? With all of the action and… ‘ _great asses’_ …that’s bound to keep you too wound up to sleep.”

Stiles groaned and threw the TV remote for him to catch. “Fine, you party-pooper. I’ll pick a comedy or something. But be warned, the jokes will probably go right over your head due to your stunted sense of humor.”

Derek sounded affronted. “I have a normal sense of humor.”

Stiles popped in the DVD, and then patted Derek on his arm before returning to the bed. “It’s all right, buddy. This room is a judgment-free zone. You don’t have to lie.”

She ended up making the executive decision of watching _Clueless_ , her all-time favorite movie (besides _Star Wars_ , of course.)

When Stiles patted the spot on the bed next to her, encouraging his presence, he slowly and awkwardly sat down, as if he had suddenly forgotten how to operate his legs.

As the opening musical montage of Cher hanging out with her friends played, Stiles announced, “So, just f.y.i., after we watch this movie, I fully expect you to memorize all of the famous quotes. I don’t care if I have to make you watch it every time I see you. Because I totally need somebody besides Lydia to quote this movie to.”

“Why don’t you have Scott watch this with you?” Derek asked.

“ _Because_ Scott’s an asshole and doesn’t appreciate the hidden genius of Alicia Silverstone and Paul Rudd.”

“And you think _I_ do?”

“Well…maybe not now. But you will soon, grasshopper. Very soon.”

During the scene where Cher is driving to school, Derek made the (extremely rude, in Stiles’ opinion) comment of “You know, I think I figured out why you like this movie so much. You identify with Cher because you both drive Jeeps, and you’re both dangers to society when you drive.”

“Hey, I resent that!” she yelled.

After that, Stiles managed to stay quiet for about three minutes of the movie. However, after Cher’s first exclamation of “As if!” she couldn’t resist leaning over and whispering in a mock-seductive voice into his ear, “Talk _Clueless_ to me, Derek,” while smirking and wiggling her eyebrows.

Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles could _totally_ see a small smile forming on his face.

Unsurprisingly, Stiles ended up talking more than actually paying attention to the movie. What _was_ surprising, however, was the fact that Derek didn’t seem irritated by it. While most people would continue focusing on the movie while she jabbered on, he actually made a point to look away from the television so he could concentrate on what she was saying.

She wasn’t used to all of that undivided attention, so she became flustered, and as usual, began babbling. “You know, before Mr. Harris got all sacrificed and stuff, I always wanted to play matchmaker for him like how Cher and Dion did with Mr. Hall and Ms. Geist. I thought that _maybe_ if he got some action in his free time, then maybe he wouldn’t be such a dick to Scott and me. But alas, that poor man probably never had a seductive bone in his body. I don’t think he would have been able to sex up a woman even if God himself was on his side. Hell, now that I think about it, _I’ve_ probably had more orgasms than he ever did in his entire life.”  
  
Derek then made a noise like he was choking and dying a little bit on the inside, so Stiles took that as a hint to stop talking.

Later on, as they continued sitting on the bed, Derek gave her a sly look and said, “So I feel like we should discuss your apparent fear of rabbits, Stiles. Is it the floppy ears or the cotton ball tail that gets to you?”

Stiles flinched, and then smacked Derek’s arm. “Shut up, you brute. You heard nothing from me.”

Derek did in fact shut up, but only after he snorted loudly at her expense. They sat there in companionable silence, sharing body heat and legs almost touching. Later on, about an hour into the movie, if Stiles happened to fall asleep with her head resting on his shoulder, well, nobody needed to know about it.

*****

The next time Stiles had a nightmare, she took Derek’s advice and actually called him. In fact, she ended up calling him on multiple occasions due to her insomnia. What surprised her the most was that no matter how many times she called him, he never sounded irritated or angry. He sounded tired a few times, sure, but he never gave her the impression that she was burdening him or wasting his time.

For the most part, Derek would talk to her about little, stupid, insignificant things: the weather, movies they planned to watch together, embarrassing stories about Peter; anything that would calm Stiles down enough so she could fall back asleep. Although Stiles was too embarrassed to admit it, she started looking forward to their nighttime chats. It gave her the semblance of a comforting pattern, as if things were once more becoming normal, or at least as normal as things could be in Beacon Hills.On more than one occasion,Stiles would wake up the following morning with her cell phone still clutched in her hand or pressed up between her face and the pillow.

Two weeks after the initial bedroom visit, her dad was out on patrol, and Stiles once again woke up in a cold sweat, screaming her head off. Before she even had the chance to reach for her phone to call Derek, she spotted him standing at the edge of her bed.

“Jesus,” she whispered, furiously rubbing at the tears in her eyes. “Why are you here, Derek? I thought we established that I would _call_ you when I had a nightmare. You didn’t need to come and check up on me again.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to leave?”

Surprising herself, she said, “No, not really.”

His eyes softened and he gently replied, “Okay, then.”

Before she was able to make sense of what was happening, Derek climbed into the twin bed (which was _so_ not made for two people, by the way) and wrapped his arms around her. It was kind of stiff and awkward at first, which was basically Derek’s personality in a nutshell, but Stiles truly appreciated that Derek was _trying_. She focused most of her energy on _not_ paying attention to the fact that Derek had her head tucked underneath his chin, because she was 95% sure that she would have a stroke if she did.

They sat together in silence for several minutes, and Stiles began to be lulled into a relaxed state due to his slow and steady heartbeat and the ridiculous amount of body heat he was emitting.

In her hazy, semi-conscious state, she took the liberty of reciprocating the gesture by shifting slightly on the bed and wrapping her arms around his torso. For a moment, Stiles feared that Derek was going to leap out of her second-story window because of the way he tensed up, but to her relief, he relaxed after a few moments. _This is so not even close to romantic,_ she firmly told herself. At best, it was just some cuddling among bros. Just some warm, comforting, and slightly arousing cuddling. Right? If worst came to worst, she could just wake up in a few hours, repress the memories, and pretend that it never even happened.

But since she still had a few hours until the Time of Repression began, she decided she would make the most out of this situation while she could. As such, she proceeded to bury her nose into his ridiculous leather jacket and nuzzled a little bit. But it was like _subtle_ nuzzling, so it was acceptable. “Are you wiping snot all over my jacket?” Derek asked. Although she couldn’t see his face, she could automatically tell from his tone that he was amused.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she huffed. Burying her face deeper into Derek’s chest, she muttered, “What’s some cuddling and sharing snot among friends, am I right?”

Derek sighed, but he didn’t sound too annoyed. Instead, he just sounded tired and fond. “Just go back to sleep, Stiles,” he murmured against the top of her head.

She yawned and hummed contentedly into his chest. “Will do, Sourwolf.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next day after school, Derek was waiting for her outside in his Camaro, looking like a fucking psychopath. As Stiles burst through the doors, overjoyed that she wouldn’t have to listen to Coach ranting about “The absolute shit-storm that is currently America’s economy!” for another twenty-four hours, she spotted the car, and Derek _staring_ at her. Groaning, she stomped over to the ridiculously pompous vehicle and pounded her fist on it until he rolled down the window.

“You know you don’t even look slightly inconspicuous, right?”

She could tell he was glaring at her, even with his sunglasses on. He didn’t comment on her snide remark, and just said, “Get in. We need to talk.”

Stiles actually listened and climbed into the seat, but only after she groaned to her level of satisfaction and threw her book bag into the backseat as hard as she could. “You know, when you said ‘Get in,’ I thought _for sure_ you were going to quote _Mean Girls_ to me. But you didn’t. So now I’m sufficiently disappointed in you.”

Derek stared straight ahead as she drove, not even making the attempt to look at her. “But your approval means so much to me, Stiles,” he muttered, deadpan. “I guess we’ll just have to reschedule our rendezvous at the diner so I can go home and cry.”

Stiles made a mental note to slide that one into the  “Derek Hale actually made a joke” folder to analyze later. But now she had more pressing matters at hand. “You said…diner, right? As in a diner where they have _food_?”

“That’s the one,” he replied, smirking.

“Goddammit, Derek,” she breathed, realizing then that she was absolutely starving. “Since you’re taking me for food and paying for it--”

“I never agreed to that part,” he interrupted.

“--then I guess I’ll forgive you this time.”

Derek hummed in amusement, and then they sat in comfortable silence for the rest of the ride. As soon as they pulled into the diner, Stiles practically leapt out of the car before it even came to a complete stop. 

Derek soon followed, and Stiles took the opportunity to say, “Okay, I’ll totally go in there with you and let you pay for my food, but first you’ve gotta take off the sunglasses, man. It hasn’t even been sunny out for like, three days, and you look like a total serial killer. I mean, a totally hot one, but you know. Still bad.” 

Muttering to himself, he took them off and stuck them in his jeans pocket. Then they walked into the old yet cozy diner together. Stiles tried not to overthink it when Derek held the door open for her, like an actual fucking gentleman or something.

Their waitress ended up being one of the cutest old ladies that Stiles had ever met. She gave both of them a big toothy grin when she pointed to her nametag and introduced herself as Mara. When she brought back their drinks and took their order, she assured them in her grandmotherly voice, “If you two lovebirds need anything else, just let me know!” before walking back to the kitchen.

At that comment, Stiles choked on her chocolate milk that she was at that moment inhaling.

Derek didn’t say anything; he just gazed at her with a raised eyebrow, looking as if he was contemplating whether or not he would have to perform emergency services on her.

When she finally settled down, she resumed sucking down the remainder of the milk so she wouldn’t have to partake in the awkward silence.

Derek suddenly looked amused. “So Stiles,” he began, twirling the straw around in his Coke, “Were you one of those kids who used to get sick from chocolate, but you’d still eat or drink it anyways just so you could rebel against your parents?”

Stiles detached herself from the bendy straw and grinned up at him. “You know me too well, Hale. How could you tell? Were you a little chocolate bandit yourself as a child?”

Derek smiled softly. “No, but Laura was.”

“Yeah?” she gently prompted, hoping he would explain further.

He nodded. “Yeah. She used to love chocolate so much it was ridiculous. But she would always get deathly sick off of it, so my parents forbid her from having any. Laura being Laura, she never listened to them, and one time I found her on her bed clutching her stomach and groaning. I didn’t even need to ask her what was wrong because I could see the chocolate smeared all over her face. She beat me up and gave me a black eye later that day because I ran to our parents to rat her out.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles giggled, a grin lighting up her face. “You sounded like a total shit as a kid. And that’s coming from me, ‘Stiles Stilinski: Shit-master Extraordinaire.” She hesitated. “And Laura sounded like a total badass.”

“She was,” Derek confirmed.

Stiles was happy to see that his eyes were noticeably less guarded than they usually were. “Well…thanks for telling me about her. Really.” And Stiles truly, genuinely meant it. The fact that Derek felt comfortable enough to talk to her about his family made her feel warm on the inside, and…kind of special, actually.

A few moments later, their sweet old lady waitress came back with their meals: a heaping plate of spaghetti and meatballs for Stiles, and two double cheeseburgers, plus a steak and fries for Derek. When the waitress walked away, Stiles stared outright at Derek’s plate with a mixture of horror and awe. “Dude…that is so much cow I can practically still hear it mooing in agony. I mean…do you normally eat this much?”

Derek glared at her with a look that clearly said _Duh, Stiles, you’re an idiot._ “Yeah,” he muttered around a mouthful of burger.

Stiles crinkled her nose in distaste. Sometimes she forgot just how gross werewolves could be. “Derek, how the hell are you not six-hundred pounds right now?”

Derek shrugged nonchalantly. “Werewolf metabolism, I guess.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s amazing, and I’m super jealous of it. Let’s just hope your terrible eating habits don’t catch up with you when you’re a werewolf senior citizen.” The moment she said that, she had visions of an eighty-year-old Derek with a cane, yelling at a group of children to get off of his lawn. She grinned. 

Derek once again gave her that exasperated yet fond expression that started becoming more frequent in the past few months. Sitting there in a diner with Derek fucking _Hale_ , Stiles contemplated how straight-up weird this situation was…and then she suddenly remembered _why_ they were there in the first place.

“So…” she began, after suspiciously glancing around the diner, as if the family of five two booths down from them, or even the elderly couple twenty feet away were secret agents sent to spy on their conversation. “What did you want to talk to me about? Surely you didn’t just bring me here to woo me with spaghetti and chocolate milk and let me berate you about werewolf diabetes, did you? Because if you did, kudos to you man, because basically everyone knows that the way into my pants is through my stomach. Appreciation for my special brand of sarcasm is also a major turn-on, by the way." 

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek gasped, choking on his soda. And if Stiles didn’t know any better, she would totally say that Derek’s ears were _totally_ turning red right now. But out of sympathy for the poor guy, she decided to be an amazing and kind human being and didn’t tease him about it.

After giving him a few moments to compose himself, she asked him again. “So, what is it?”

Derek suddenly looked nervous, like he absolutely didn’t want to be there. Which, to be honest, wasn’t a rare sentiment on Derek’s part. However, the reluctance to be somewhere was usually accompanied by a glare of constipated annoyance, not anxiety.

“Dude.” Stiles whispered, leaning over the table and totally getting up in Derek’s personal space. “Are you…pregnant or something? Is that totally a thing that could happen? Because, knowing how witches apparently exist and constantly fuck things up, male werewolf pregnancy doesn’t really seem that far out of reach--”

“Stiles,” Derek ground out, eyes flashing just for a brief second. “For once in your life, could you please just shut the hell up?”

Stiles _hmmph’ed_ , slightly offended. Then she waved her hands in a gesture that implied, _Go ahead, asshole. I refuse to speak to you anymore, ever._

Derek sighed, rubbing his hands over his face in exhaustion. “I think it’s about time that you learn self defense. Learn how to use different weapons. And baseball bats and sarcasm don’t count as weapons, by the way.”

Stiles was affronted. “Excuse _you_ , my sarcasm is deadly and terrifying. And I’ll have you know that baseball bat came in handy on several different occasions!”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say. I just want you to be able to protect yourself so I don’t have to spend all of my time thinking someone kidnapped you in the middle of the woods.”

Stiles narrowed her eyes. “Is this because I’m a girl? Because I know the nogitsune threw me off, and I haven’t been on my A-game lately, but…you know that I can handle myself.”

“It’s not because you’re a girl. You do know that the most powerful werewolves in my family were all women, right? So believe me, I know that women are tough. And I know that you can handle yourself. You’re resourceful and clever, and you’ve saved your friends on different occasions. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still human, which automatically makes you an easy target. You’re pack, and you should be able to fight and defend yourself just as much as Scott or Kira can.”

“Okay, fine,” Stiles replied, still suspicious. “But why are _you_ offering? Don’t you have more important things to worry about than me becoming a werewolf snack?”

“It doesn’t have to be me,” Derek started, scratching the back of his head. If Stiles had to bet, she’d say he looked _nervous_. “It was just a suggestion. If you want, Scott or somebody else could--”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I…I want it to be you. But only if you want to, though.”

“Yeah, Stiles. I want to.” Derek gave her a small, relieved smile. It was actually kind of cute, when she thought about it. Stiles was reeling just a little bit. When did Derek become so…pleasant?

Their adorable granny waitress came back a few minutes later, gathering up their empty plates. “Will there be any dessert today?” she inquired sweetly. 

Stiles instantly perked up. “Why, _yes_ , there will be!” She held down the laugh that threatened to bubble out of her when she saw Derek’s raised eyebrows that clearly translated to _Like hell I’m buying you dessert._ “I will have the brownie sundae, please.” She looked up and smiled sweetly, like the little shit she was.

“Coming right up, hon. And I’ll make sure to bring two spoons so you can share.” After a fond wink at the both of them, she once again departed their table. As soon as she was out of earshot, Stiles leaned over and whispered, “Dude, why does she keep _doing that?”_

Derek gave her a blank stare. “Doing what?”

“ _That!_ ” Stiles hissed, flailing her arms everywhere as if that would magically explain her thoughts. “Implying that we…that we’re _dating_ or something!”

He scowled in mild disgust, which, _rude_. “Beats me. How would I know what a seventy-year-old woman is thinking? Ask her yourself if it bothers you that much.”

“Okay, _fine_ , Sourwolf. Let’s get back to our previous topic of conversation, then. Since you won’t answer why our Betty White waitress seems to think we’re an item, answer _this_ question then. Why do you invest so much time in making sure I’m safe? I mean, not that I don’t appreciate the concerned stalking and lurking, and even the Mr. Miyagi lessons you’re offering me. I really do. It’s just…why do you even care?”

Derek sighed, looking like he wished he could be doing anything else besides having this conversation. “You may be the biggest pain in my ass--”

“Kinky,” she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows.

“ _But_ ,” he stubbornly pressed on, “You’re pack and it’s my responsibility to make sure you’re safe. And I care about you…sometimes. When you’re not being annoying. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Stiles was pretty touched by that, but she wouldn’t be Stiles Stilinski if she didn’t try to make a joke out of it. “Are you sure you’re not just using that as an excuse to tap this hot body?”

“Yes, Stiles,” he replied drily, looking extremely unimpressed. “The only reason I’ve protected you these past two years was so I could get into your pants. Those Chewbacca pajamas you wore the other night? _Very_ sexy. I could hardly contain myself around you.”

Stiles blushed and smacked him on the arm. “Shut the fuck up. You’re not allowed to make jokes again, ever. It’s too weird and I don’t think I’ll ever recover.” She dramatically clutched her chest for emphasis.

Derek sighed deeply as if Stiles was testing his last ounce of patience. “I really don’t know why I spend time with you.”

She grinned and winked playfully at him. “It’s because I’m hilarious and amazing, and you love being around my cheerful personality.”

Mara then came back with the brownie sundae, and very pointedly placed two spoons on the table before going back to the kitchen. 

Stiles raised an expectant eyebrow at him. “You can have some if you want.”

Derek shook his head. “No, I’m good. You go ahead.”

She shrugged. “Whatever, man. More for me.”

Derek stared at her incredulously as she unceremoniously piled into her monstrous dessert. “One of these days, you’re going to make me go bankrupt.”

Stiles smiled up at him, mouth still half-full with ice cream. “Don’t worry, Sourwolf. I’ll pay next time.”

***

Stiles silently thought it was counterproductive when Derek insisted on taking her back to the school afterwards so she could take her Jeep home. She could have easily just asked Scott to drive her to school the next day, but she decided not to argue for once.

Right before she was about to leave the Camaro, Derek grabbed her wrist and said, “I’ll pick you up at your house tomorrow after school so we can get started on your training. Is that alright?”

Stiles smiled and tried to ignore the blush that swept over her face. “Yeah, tomorrow. Sounds good.”


End file.
